


Rising From the Ashes

by QueenofCamelot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Arthur has magic, Druid!Merlin, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofCamelot/pseuds/QueenofCamelot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur faced a major predicament. Not solely for being a sorcerer under a king and father who mercilessly eradicated sorcerers, but for also bearing a rather frightening attachment to possibly the most powerful warlock in Albion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rising From the Ashes

For many, the darkness that draped over the dense forest was a curse, set upon weary travelers to make their journey more difficult.

For Prince Arthur Pendragon, however, it was a blessing.

It banished the pressing fear that he may be caught, an apprehension that would more than likely hinder his journey, something he could not afford in the little time he had.

The twigs and foliage crushed under the soles of his leather boots no longer acted as warning bells but rather as an indication that he was growing closer to his destination, his eyes focusing on the path ahead rather than the trail behind. His cool breath was jagged in his anticipation, and he found himself thanking the trees as well as the night for providing an extra level of protection to his plight. The king’s narrowed eyes, nor his knights’ loyalty to the crown would find him here.

He was truly safe.

He felt this security settle deeply within him, granting him the courage to whisper the words that could have him executed, the king’s son be damned, should he be heard. At his command, a decent, if not efficient flame rose from his palm, more effectively lighting the path ahead. He grinned widely at the sight of it, feeling a sense of innate freedom rush through him, warming him to an incredible degree despite the slight chill in the air.

It was not very often he got the chance to practice the few spells he had learned from an ancient spell book gifted discreetly by the court physician. The number of executions he had been forced to witness over the years, as well as the countless nightmares he experienced of being burned on a pyre, made him fully aware of how dangerous simply looking at an object of sorcery was.

It made his blood boil how many of his people had to die at Uther’s hand, but his hands were bound until he was king. His father was stubborn, firmly stuck in his ways and no matter how often Arthur pressed the issue, nothing could be done. Until then he could only help sorcerers in the shadows, wait patiently for his turn to make things right. To expose himself would only cause further problems for his kind. He could not promise the new heir his father would appoint would be so fond of sorcery and so it was his duty to remain alive and well. A dead man could not right the wrongs of his father.

Hence this journey was a necessity.

It was not long before his resilient flame led him to a wide clearing, the previous dense cluster of trees making room for the ruins of an ancient prayer ground. The nature of the site was evident by the harsh druid markings inscribed on the fallen slabs of stone and the circular structure of the decrypt building. Even if Gaius’s description of the place hadn’t been flawless, there would have been no doubt in Arthur’s mind that he had reached his destination.

There was a strange sensation of magic saturating the air, a breath that sent a pleasant tingle down his spine.

Kneeling directly in the centre of the ring of stones, so perfectly positioned he could have been part of the site, was an ominous grey-hooded figure. Were he not expecting the man, he supposed he would have drawn his sword and held it up against his throat in fear of what the stranger may do. As it happened, this man was the reason for his passage here so he did none of the sort.

Instead he took a few hesitant steps forward, and said quietly, “Emrys.”

It was a name of legend, a name of power among his people. When Gaius had spoken of the druid leader, his voice had been embedded with a deep respect that Arthur could not ignore. He did not know of what this man had done, nor would do, but to be spoken of so highly…Arthur already deemed him worthy of great honour.

To his surprise, the man got to his feet with ease and turned to face Arthur, his grey cloak sending a wave of cool air in his direction.

Arthur gasped.

The sorcerer’s face was far from what he had expected.

It was not wise, nor disfigured, nor aged.

Instead his pale face was youthful, beautiful even, his features sharp and handsome and his eyes a startling shade of blue. He would even go as far to say that the man – boy – was only a year or two older than him, hardly old enough to be a druid leader. His appearance was ethereal yes, mystical without a doubt, but not aged, not experienced as he had hoped.

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “You cannot be Emrys.”

The man smiled slightly.

“Your doubts are well founded. But yes, it is what the druids call me. My true name is Merlin.”

“I much prefer that,” Arthur admitted, lowering the hood of his cloak. “It’s less… intimidating. I did not know what to expect.”

Merlin laughed, unveiling his own hood, revealing a shock of black hair. “The name does carry a large weight, much like yours, I’d venture. I do not mind which name you call me by.”

Arthur nodded, exhaling in relief. “Gaius told you who I am, yet you are still willing to train me, the son of the man who would kill us? I am afraid, I do not understand.”

“You are not your father,” he replied simply as if stating the colour of the sky above. “And as you said, you are one of us. I know what it is like to have powers you cannot control, and I do not wish it upon anyone.”

Arthur’s hands clenched into fists, a wave of irritation washing over him. “You have lived in a druid community your whole life, with people who know and respect who you are and what you can do, while my father would kill me without hesitation if he knew. I am sorry, but how can you possibly understand how I feel?”

Merlin did not flinch despite the tense atmosphere and Arthur’s aggressive step forward and his expression remained the epitome of tranquility. It seemed perhaps he was the great Emrys Gaius had spoken of, at least in regards to patience. “I was born with magic on a tiny farm in a starving village to a mother with not one ounce of it in her blood and a father who remains to be seen. When I grew to be a small child, she sent me to live with the druids, unable to handle my spontaneous outbursts of magic. It is from them I learned the skills you have likely been told of. I have not seen her since, and with such responsibility on my shoulders I hardly have time to even recall her face.”

Arthur felt his anger ebb away as the man’s words sunk in. He knew what it was not to have a mother, his own having died at his birth. It seemed no matter who you were, no matter what you faced, magic could be a burden, was a burden to all who possessed it. He was not the only one who had suffered at its hand. “I am terribly sorry for implying what I did. I am just very bitter about the irony of it all.”

Merlin nodded, his blue eyes solemn. “Yes, it is very easy to become bitter, which is why you must work tirelessly to stop it from consuming you. Hence, I suppose, why you are here.”

“I am here to learn from you, is that not what Gaius told you?”

“He did indeed. I just needed to make sure it is what you really want.”

Arthur frowned. “I suppose you have more important things to do than waste your time teaching me if I have no desire to learn.”

Merlin shook his head. “Not quite. Magic can only be commanded if one is willing to embrace it. You fortunately appear to have done so, and so teaching you will be much easier than I’d anticipated.”

“Shall we begin then? We haven’t got all night,” Arthur replied, crossing his arms. “I am still keen to see these powers so highly spoken of. Gaius is not one to exaggerate.”

Merlin grinned. “And see them you shall, but you must not rush the process. We have years, if you wish it, to train your abilities.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Years! You will surely tire of me by then.”

Merlin’s face, if possible, eased and became even younger than ever as he replied, his eyes flickering to Arthur’s lips. “I very much doubt that.”

…

It was not long before Arthur found out exactly why Gaius spoke so highly of the boy. He could conjure thunderstorms with the flicker of his hand, turn invisible with the utterance of a few words and even prompt the growth of flowers around them with a casual glance in their direction. Arthur, fascinated, had wanted to learn the growth spell straight away, but Merlin had hastily declared that it was beyond his skill level for now. Grudgingly Arthur instead practiced a much simpler spell, one to conjure a bigger flame than the one he could already produce.

In the length of a few hours, Arthur had mastered the spell of creating an impressive fire as well as a new spell of seeing the path ahead without taking a step forward. Although the spells were barely what he had hoped to achieve in the time planned, he had the words and method to the spells lodged firmly in his mind and felt more powerful than he ever had.

Merlin was a surprisingly good teacher, his hands gentle when adjusting Arthur’s own when he casted a spell incorrectly, or his words encouraging when Arthur’s mouth failed to cast the colossal flame he had been instructed to summon. To his chagrin, he found himself staring at the man long after he had finished explaining exactly how to perform a particular spell and berated himself for it before doing as he was bid. There was just something about the way Merlin’s full lips uttered the foreign words and his eyes flashed an alluring gold that enticed Arthur, something he couldn’t properly put into words without sounding deranged.

He hated himself for focusing on his mentor’s appearance of all things when he finally had a proper instructor to help increase his powers, something he had been dreaming of for years, yet he could not find it in him to stop. Hence when Merlin claimed they were finished and asked if he would like to return the following night, the yes that slipped from Arthur’s lips was instantaneous and eager. He winced at his lack of discipline and thanked the man profusely for his teaching before disappearing back into the forest, darting quickly in his effort to escape, forgetting for a few seconds that he ought to be stealthy.

His mind was too full of new spells and sparkling blue eyes to even think of the danger he was heading towards.

…

Throughout the next day, he found himself tired and prone to distraction. The usual allure of leading the knight’s practice and hunting for game in the woods, being overshadowed by his desire to return to the prayer ground and practice the spells he had learned. Occasionally his thoughts also went to his mentor, but he pushed them away viciously, thinking instead of what new ones he may learn that night.

It was not prudent to think of what he could not have.

He must have truly been out of sorts, for even his father noted the change in him. “Are you ill, son?” he asked, something akin to concern evident in his gravelly voice.

Arthur shook his head vehemently, a shiver running down his spine as he considered how his father would react if he knew the reason for his odd behaviour. “No, father, I am just tired. I had trouble sleeping last night.”

“I suggest you visit the court physician. He has many remedies to cure a sleepless night, I am sure.”

He nodded. “I will look into it.”

Of course, when he did see the physician, he mentioned nothing of sleeping drafts but rather of his plan to return to the prayer ground the following night.

The physician was neither pleased nor aggrieved to hear this and simply raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea you would be so eager, sire. I thought you would be put off by his…age.”

“So you knew then?”

Gaius scoffed. “Of course I knew, his mother and I were great friends long ago. However it is not age but rather skill and experience you need right now. Emrys happens to have both, which is why I suggested him to you. I did not want you to reject him purely based on the fact he is young when you could learn so much from him.”

He sighed, patting Gaius’s shoulder. “It’s alright, I am not bothered by it. I am merely surprised. In fact, I am so desperate to be taught, I think I would allow a seal to teach me if it knew magic.”

After he’d said the words, although they seemed humorous of him to say within his own mind, he felt an inexplicable spike of guilt pierce him.

“Is that so?” the physician asked, before turning back to his herbs. Arthur didn’t have to see his face to know it was drawn with disapproval.

“Well he is much better than a seal would be of course,” he admitted, quick to amend his mistake. “He’s brilliant actually.”

“I would hope so. He is said to be the greatest sorcerer in our land.”

“I do not doubt it,” Arthur muttered, memories of the previous night invading his thoughts.

…

Within a fortnight the ancient prayer ground felt more of a home to him than the citadel. He could find his way there easily, with or without a flame to guide him, and his abilities were steadily increasing. Now his steps were not hesitant, but rather bold as he approached Merlin, who was standing waiting for him rather than kneeling as he normally did. His bright eyes crinkled around the corners as he smiled widely noting his approach, and Arthur’s heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Merlin was truly radiant when he smiled.

“Hello again,” he murmured, lowering his head a little in respect. Merlin did the same to him.

“Hello, Arthur.”

Merlin had never deferred to him, but Arthur couldn’t find it in him to care.

They were equals here.

Silence permuted the air for a few seconds before Arthur blurted out. “I’ve practiced the spells you have taught me, and can cast most of them without difficulty.”

Merlin nodded approvingly. “I thought you would. Would you like to demonstrate?”

Almost glowing with elation, he muttered the transformation spell he had perfected in the cover of darkness for days. In his hand the blade of grass he held was replaced with a crimson rose. He sheepishly handed the flower to Merlin, averting his eyes for fear of what he might see. He had not meant to cast a flower, rather an oak leaf, but his mind was evidently on things it should not be. Magic did not always follow the command of its bidder but rather had a mind of its own, working with emotion rather than reason.

To his relief, Merlin laughed. “Thank you, you are most kind.”

Arthur’s face coloured and his voice was choked. “That…I don’t know why that happened. Let’s move on to the next spell shall we.”

Merlin’s lips twitched with amusement. “Whatever you wish.”

They practiced a few more spells between them, before Merlin pulled back to look at him seriously. Arthur felt very much like turning away but forced himself to hold his gaze, knowing it would be childish not to.

“I have taught you a few spells,” Merlin began. “But now I must teach you something equally as important. That is the balance and price of spells. I know it is not particularly riveting but it is something you must know if you wish to practice sorcery.”

“I am willing to listen,” Arthur replied instantly, wincing as he realized at this point in time he would listen to anything Merlin had to say, intriguing or otherwise.

“Every spell comes with a price. As with fighting with a sword, magic drains you if you keep at it for too long, or in this case cast too big of a spell for you to handle. Sometimes the price can be your life, or the life of someone you love.”

Arthur nodded. Gaius had told him something similar when he had told him excitedly of his plan to bring back his mother from the dead as a child of ten.

“You must therefore be careful as to how many spells you cast and which spells you cast. Even when times are dire and you feel you must use it. You must think of yourself, of how it will affect you.”

Merlin looked down, but not before his eyes betrayed how he truly felt. They were wide and filled with sorrow.

Arthur picked up on it rather quickly, and said softly. “What happened?”

“A few years ago my best friend, Will, died of plague in the druid camp. I tried to heal him, used all my strength to do it and almost killed myself in the process. He died anyway, and I was bedridden for weeks. Some spells should not be practiced, no matter the reason. We often cannot stop death.”

“I am sorry,” Arthur murmured, his throat strangely thick. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that Merlin was still a boy with the amount of power brewing behind his calm exterior despite his youthful appearance.

He dismissed his apology with a wave of his hand. “It happened long ago, and I have learned much since then. I only hope that you will take caution of my words.”

Arthur nodded again. “I understand.”

Merlin smiled although it was a ghost of his usual grin. “Excellent. Are you familiar with the old religion?”

…

A fortnight turned into two months, then three, then four. Every night, without fail, Arthur visited Merlin at the stones under the cover of night, undetected. He grew more and more powerful with each day, but so, unfortunately did the affection he felt for his mentor. The initial attraction remained which was bad enough in itself, but now in addition to it was a sense of devotion, of a love for his passion, his patience, his humor, his kindness, essentially everything that made him Merlin.

In other words, he faced a major predicament. Not solely for being a sorcerer under a king and father who mercilessly eradicated sorcerers, but also for bearing a rather frightening attachment to possibly the most powerful warlock in Albion.

He dreaded the day when Merlin would claim he had taught him all he could and promptly disappear into the mist he was so fond of creating. Being around him had brought him a sense of security, of safety. He felt that the two of them could tackle the world together, side by side, or at least when his own powers were fully developed, which at this point, he could hardly say they were. He couldn’t quite get the image out of his head. It was a strangely appealing one, the thought of someone having his back, a steadfast companion. Well it was almost as appealing as the one where he pinned Merlin down on the grass with magical bonds and kissed the life out of him – but well, that was not one he liked to dwell on often. It reminded him of what he couldn’t and never would have at this rate.

Merlin had expressed no interest in him, which was the main factor holding him back from telling him how much he meant to him. Arthur was not used to being unsure, and didn’t want to risk losing his valuable lessons, or worse Merlin himself, all for letting his stupid feelings get in the way. He would take Merlin in any way he could, be it friend…or something more.

Of course, being a driven man, he wanted to shape his own destiny, to take action despite fear of rejection but every time he tried to force himself to say something or imply what he wanted, it never quite worked out. It was as if the universe was conspiring against him to deny him his happiness. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. He tried deliberately requesting spells to learn which required close proximity, but Merlin would declare them better suited for after he had learned another particular spell. As frustrating as it was, Arthur had a sinking suspicion he was doing it on purpose and dreaded the thought his affections were in fact unreturned. Unrepentant however he did not renounce his romantic conquest and drove daily to think of a more effective plan.

On the first day of the fifth month under Merlin’s tutelage, he had entered the prayer ground to find it empty for the first time. Bewildered, he searched the surrounding area for the wayward sorcerer but he was nowhere to be found. Having resolved to wait for him, as Merlin was evidently late, Arthur leaned against one of the sacred stones for over an hour, practicing spells to pass the time, however no matter how hard he wished it, Merlin did not appear. Frustrated, and although he was loathe to admit it, frightened, he beat his fists against the stone, hoping with all his will that Merlin hadn’t disappeared for good, hadn’t found someone better, more talented than Arthur to possess his time. The thought of Merlin having abandoned him was terrifying enough for him to forget the sting of his knuckles, which were raw from pounding against the unforgiving rock.

“Damn it, Merlin!” he yelled. “You swore we would have years!”

After his rage had eased some, he forced himself to calm down and resign to the fact that he could do nothing if Merlin had decided to leave, that he may in fact be over-exaggerating and Merlin had simply chosen to forgo tonight’s lesson for whatever reason. With this in mind, Arthur decided to return to Camelot, finding only coldness and emptiness in the stones where warmth and companionship could usually be found.

He found himself tossing in his sleep often that night, thoughts of where Merlin could be plaguing his dreams, twisting them into nightmares, which Arthur awoke from in a sweat.

When his servant Morris came to dress him the following morning, he found himself worried rather than furious at Merlin for failing to appear the previous night. As a result he was rather sharp with the serving boy who looked none to happy to return to the servant’s quarters when Arthur dismissed him. He found himself grumbling on his way to the courtyard where his father had summoned him, not in the mood for a lecture or whatever it was his father planned to inflict on him that morning.

However it was not a lecture, or anything of the sort that he faced in the courtyard.

It was much, much worse.

…

“This man was found practicing magic at Stones of Nemeth by the knights of Camelot on patrol, and is hereby accused of sorcery. Do you deny it?”

There had been no trial, nothing to warn Arthur of his worst nightmare unfolding before his eyes. He had arrived in the courtyard to find Merlin in chains, his clothes dirty and his hair equally so after evidently having spent the night in the dungeon. A large crowd had amassed to witness the execution and the sight of their eager faces sickened him almost as much as seeing Merlin reduced so lowly.

Bile rose in Arthur’s throat and his heart thundered in terror as he watched Merlin speak calmly from in front of the pyre about to be lit.

“I do not deny it, I am the sorcerer you speak of.”

This was all Arthur’s fault. If only he hadn’t been so stupid as to visit Merlin every night, foolishly thinking them infallible. He should have expected one of them would be caught eventually, and now because of his ignorance Merlin would pay the price.

No! Arthur’s jaw clenched in resolve. No he would not.

He would not let Merlin suffer for his mistake.

Barely listening to the rest of the proceedings, Arthur’s eyes scanned the scene feverishly for a way to free his friend. Every spell that crossed his mind involved his eyes flashing golden and he couldn’t let that happen. They would both be burned then, and it would all be for naught.

There had to be another way.

He looked at Merlin desperately, trying to convey through his eyes his desire for him to free himself in any way he could, no matter the cost. But Merlin simply shook his head at him, and Arthur gritted his teeth in frustration.

How could he stand by and let them burn him?

Did he care so little for his own life?

“Then under Camelot’s laws you are sentenced to death.” The king then waved his hand – a signal for the pyre to be lit.

Arthur’s panic increased tenfold as he watched two knights lead Merlin roughly to the pyre. Every second he wasted thinking of a plan could be the crucial ones needed to save him.

He couldn’t publically disrupt the execution or use magic but there had to be something he could do.

As the knights tied Merlin to the pyre, entrapping him with rope against the unforgiving wood, Arthur realized with a start that he did not care of the repercussions of freeing him; nothing was more important than ensuring he lived.

So he did the only thing he could at this point. He strode up to his father, who was watching the scene with grim satisfaction, and proclaimed loudly. “You cannot burn this man father, there is evidence of his innocence.”

All the low chattering of the crowd stopped at this and his father stared at him dubiously. “But the sorcerer has confessed. Why would an innocent man plead guilty?”

Arthur spoke calmly, the way he had seen Merlin do many times. “No doubt he was pressured into saying he was guilty. You cannot deny that there have been many men who have done the same.”

“And what is this evidence you speak of. Those men were accused of theft, a far less serious crime. We cannot take chances with sorcerers.”

The familiar glint in his father’s narrowed eyes was a warning and he struggled to remain rational as he improvised an appropriate answer. “The knights have captured the wrong man, perhaps it was another who cast the spell. He must have a fair trial.”

“The Stones of Nemeth are regarded as sacred ground by sorcerers. No innocent man would venture there, hence there has been no mistake. The execution will proceed.” He raised his hand in signal once more.

In a moment of weakness, Arthur gasped out. “Please, do not do this. I beg of you. I will do whatever you ask of me, just free him.”

His father looked at him carefully for a moment and then his face hardened. “Sir Leon, please escort my son from the courtyard. He is evidently ill and in need of medical attention from the court physician.”

Before he could even process his father’s words, he was forced backwards by Leon, a loyal knight of his father’s. He fought against his hold but to his horror his efforts were futile against Leon. “No! Release me. I have to…”

“I am sorry sire, I must do as your father commands,” Leon said apologetically, gripping him tighter when he tried to thrust his knee in the area where it mattered. Tears burned in his eyes and the courtyard grew further and further away but he perspired, struggling against Leon with all he had.

Merlin couldn’t burn, there had to be time.

A way.

Something.

Anything!

“Leon, please.”

Leon ignored him steadfastly, his eyes focused on the path ahead. “I am truly sorry, Sire.”

He had to free him…he had to…

Merlin needed him.

He couldn’t give up.

Not now.

Not ever.

“No!”

He continued to fight, to hope, even as the stench of smoke filled his nostrils.

He wasn’t too late.

He could save him.

Then a loud cheer could be heard from the courtyard and he knew he had failed.

It was tradition that once a sorcerer burned, a celebration be held.

It was over.

Leon released his hold immediately, realizing the struggle was over, and left to stand guard by the door.

Arthur staggered backwards, head shaking with denial.

“No,” Arthur whispered. “No!”

He couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t be…gone.

Arthur was meant to save him; it couldn’t end like this.

However the smoke and the cheering told another story.

He stared blankly at the doorway Leon guarded as if Merlin would suddenly appear behind him, a smile etched upon his face and Arthur would be proven wrong.

Gods, he had to be wrong.

“Sire,” Leon began, before Arthur twisted around and stumbled from the room.

He tore blindly through the mostly empty halls of the citadel, for once not caring how his subjects perceived him. The walls did not exist, the few servants doing their duty did not exist, the finery did not exist. Nothing existed, because Merlin was gone.

After what felt like the span of an entire century, Arthur finally reached his chambers, bolting the door behind him shakily and then drawing back against it. The room was deadly quiet, only the sound of his own ragged breathing piercing his ears. His chambers were pristine, unchanged from how he’d left it a mere hour before. It was difficult to grasp how everything could appear the same, could remain untouched when Arthur’s world had been so cruely torn in two.

Then as if all the energy he currently possessed had been stolen from him, he sagged against the wood, letting his face fall into his hands as images from the courtyard jeered at him in his mind.

He had failed.

Finally alone, he allowed himself to sob, to let the tears building in his eyes fall listlessly from his cheeks. Once he started he could not stop, loud and ugly sobs ripping from his lips as he pictured Merlin charred body, as he accepted the fact he was never coming back. Here, in the privacy of his chambers, he could be weak, could grieve as he saw fit. Here, he was not a prince, simply Arthur, simply a man who had lost someone very important to him, he’d dare say the most important person he’d ever known.

Intermingled with the grief was a strong sense of guilt, of self-loathing. He could have used his magic to save him, could have thought up a better excuse, could have done anything but let him die.

He was a coward.

He had chosen his secret over Merlin’s life, and for that he deserved ten times what Merlin had suffered. In fact, he would accept that fate gratefully if it brought him back.

However, nothing could bring him back, and he was the only one to blame.

How could he save all sorcerers from the pyre if he couldn’t even save the one he loved.

Yes, loved.

He could admit it now when it was too late, when he had failed him.

He gripped the edge of the rug at his feet, just barely holding back from tearing it from its seams. Voice choked as if he could hear him, he said, “Merlin, I am so sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

He looked up, dazed to see the very last person he’d expected to see.

It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have! He had smelled the smoke.

“You…you’re…Merlin?”

Merlin smiled down at him, his blue eyes apologetic. “I escaped from the flames at the last second, so the king would believe me to be dead. Did you really expect I’d just let myself be burned? No, I still have far much more to teach you.”

Arthur was on his feet in seconds, a hysterical laugh escaping his lips. “You’re really here?”

“Truly I am.”

No more than a few seconds passed before Arthur’s mouth was on Merlin’s, raw and long awaited. Merlin froze in surprise, his lips uncooperative before kissing him back just as ardently, his arms wrapping around Arthur’s waist and his forehead tilted against Arthur’s.

The kiss wasn’t simply pleasant; it was also necessary.

Into it, Arthur released all his frustration, his fear, his guilt and Merlin responded in turn. It was all Arthur had hoped for, everything he’d longed for and more. When Arthur pulled back he looked at him seriously, his eyes dark.

“Do not ever do that to me again. I will not see you die.”

Merlin nodded, his nose skimming across Arthur’s cheek. “I swear to you, I will not.”

“You have no idea how…” Arthur trailed off, his voice choked.

Merlin’s eyes clouded with guilt. “I am so sorry, Arthur. The king had to believe I was dead otherwise he would continue to hunt me. I would not have acted so if there was any other choice.”

“Do not worry, I understand,” Arthur assured him, kissing his forehead. “But what will we do now? Continue to practice in secret? Where? The Stones have been discovered.”

“Do not worry about that. We will find a place, many places in fact for you to practice. One day, when your father has passed and you are king, our kind will be safe again.”

“I do not wish him to die, he is my father after all, but I cannot deny that I look forward to the day we can practice magic freely more than any other.” Then he put his hands gently on either side of Merlin’s face. “And I swear to you, that when I am King, you will be my court sorcerer and we will make this a prosperous land together.”

His blue eyes grew incredibly soft. “Is not one sorcerer in the court enough?”

“Every man needs a companion, and you are to be mine if you wish it.”

“I would wish for nothing more,” he said sincerely.

Arthur grinned and leant in to kiss him.

 …

Three summers hence in Camelot, this dream of theirs became a reality.

No more innocents were burned and those who used magic wrongly were dealt with fairly.

Camelot was truly a land of peace and prosperity.


End file.
